Memories
by Mythical Blue
Summary: One thing that Freya has known since the Christmas holidays of her first year is that not all important memories are nice. But what kind of memories can a fifteenyearold girl really have to hide? Can she keep all of her secrets to herself?


Memories:  
  
The owls at Eeylops Owl Emporium hooted loudly, but not loud enough to carry over the babble of the crowd for more than a short distance. The brown barn owl that sat in one of the cages outside the front door reminded Freya of the owl that had delivered her Hogwarts letter, four years ago. The owl had landed on the kitchen table, startling everyone in the room, and had hooted encouragingly as she had cautiously untied the letter from its outstretched leg.  
  
Freya was sitting in Diagon Alley, at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. She had received her yearly letter from Hogwarts the day before, the letter that informed her of what new equipment she had to buy. She always came to Diagon Alley as soon as possible after receiving the letter, there was less chance of seeing other students, who, she had noticed, tended to wait until the week before school began to buy their supplies.  
  
She had already purchased new ink and parchment, and found some robes at the second-hand store that she would only need to alter a little in order for them to fit almost as well as if she had bought them at Madam Malkin's. Really all she had left to do was buy her books and potion ingredients, but she had decided to sit down and have an ice cream first. She was well aware the little boy sitting opposite her tired much more quickly than she did.  
  
Michael was about to turn three, and Freya smiled as she watched him smear chocolate ice cream around his mouth. It was his first visit to Diagon Alley and he seemed amazed and delighted by everything around him. Freya magically dampened a handkerchief under the table were no one would see her under-age use of magic. She used the damp cloth to wipe Michael's sticky face and hands, before leading him to the Apothecary.  
  
As they entered the small, dark shop Michael wrinkled up his nose at the smell. The attendant was busy serving a large family, wizarding by the look of their clothes, so Freya and Michael stood back to wait. Freya kept one eye on Michael as he studied the jars of herbs, insects, and innards, and one eye on the family. She watched them interact, how the identical red- haired twins teased their sister, a girl, also with red hair, only a few years older than Michael. Mostly she watched how the mother efficiently ordered potion ingredients and kept order among her brood of five, of which the sole girl was the youngest, and the oldest boy was probably about to start at Hogwarts that September.  
  
Freya felt a stab of grief as she watched the mother. Even now, nine years later, Freya's mother's death caused her pain. She could clearly remember the day when she had returned home from school to find her father sitting in the living room. Her mother had been sick for some time, confined to bed due to the cancer attacking her liver. Freya had never truly realised how sick her mother had been until she came home to find her father there, then she had known something was very wrong. She had begun to cry even before her father had pulled her onto his lap and told her that her mother was gone.  
  
She had been only six when her mother had died, and she could remember little of the woman she had been. There were vague images of a dark haired woman with smiling blue eyes, but they were few. Not even the memories of rushing home to see the same woman, but a different one at the same time, lying in bed, eyes dulled with pain and medication, hair limp and lifeless, were very strong.  
  
Her hand suddenly registered as being empty, Michael's small hand was no longer clasped in it. She looked around frantically for the small, dark- haired boy, finally locating him amongst the crowd of red hair of the family still standing at the counter. He was talking to the girl, and the youngest boy, who looked only a little older than the girl herself. Freya smiled softly; at least Michael could make friends.  
  
She was about to approach the family, so she could keep a closer eye on Michael, but stopped when a tall, red-haired, young man entered the shop. He walked over to the family immediately, and Freya froze. The young man, in his early twenties, looked nothing like.and he exuded a friendly, gentle air as he whispered in the mother's ear, but Freya could not make herself move.  
  
Michael came back to claim her hand when the family left, waving to the boy and girl as they walked past. The mother nodded to Freya, and the young man smiled, Freya managed a small nod before sighing with relief as the last red head disappeared through the door.  
  
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Flourish and Blott's was as impressive as always. Every time Freya visited the store she felt as if she could happily stay there for hours. She had felt that way the first time she had entered the bookstore, that year she had been with her Uncle Tom as her father, a prominent lawyer, was too busy to take her to buy her school supplies.  
  
They had visited the bookstore immediately after buying robes at Madam Malkin's. Tom had been making scornful comments about the Goblins at Gringotts after they had had their money changed. She could still remember every word as clearly as if he had just finished saying them.  
  
"Ugly little creatures, don't you think Frey? And these people actually let them look after their money. They have a devious quality to them. They're probably just a bunch of crooks, right Frey?"  
  
She had nodded not wanting to disagree with her Uncle, and being surprised by the Goblins herself. After visiting the robe store he had commented on the Hogwarts uniform.  
  
"Robes? They look like dresses. I don't know about you Frey, but I think all of these wizards are barmy. Totally nuts the lot of them."  
  
He had bought her a book however. Hogwarts, a History was not one on the required list and Freya had been happy and grateful to receive the book. She was glad for anything to help her fit into the new world she was entering.  
  
She had not seen her uncle since the Christmas holidays during her first year at Hogwarts, the holidays that included the night her mind always skidded around. Though she always avoided thinking about that night and what had happened during it, she knew the memory was important. She also knew that not all important memories are nice.  
  
It made her angry at times that she could recall him so clearly, but have her mother remain a mystery. Every return to the magical street brought back the same memories, a reason why Freya never dawdled there, but bought what she needed and left again.  
  
A tug on her arm snapped her back to the present and Freya glanced down at Michael.  
  
"You go find a book over there," she said, pointing out the shelves of children's books, "and I'll get the books I need."  
  
Michael nodded and headed for the shelves. He had not spoken much since they had entered Diagon Alley, but Freya put that down to the surprise of the wizarding world on the boy who was used to only Muggles.  
  
It did not take long for Freya to find the books she needed, she picked up a text on advanced Arithmancy, and another on Ancient Runes. They were not prescribed but she thought they would be helpful in preparing for her O.W.L.s, which she would be sitting at the end of the year. She struggled to balance the books in her arms with the bags of supplies she already had. She thought she had them set when two slipped and crashed onto the floor.  
  
As she was trying to figure out how she was going to pick the fallen books up, while maintaining hold of the others, a pair of hands picked the dropped books up for her. A young man with brown hair and blue eyes stacked them on top of the books she still held with a smile, before disappearing amidst the shelves of books. It all happened so quickly that the panic did not even have time to rise out of the depths were it hid. The young man had looked familiar enough that Freya supposed he was in her year, he looked about the right age, but as she felt the panic begin to bubble up out of the shadows, she quickly put him out of her mind.  
  
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The rest of the holidays passed smoothly for Freya at her grandparents' house. After the passing of her mother, Freya had spent everyday of any holidays at her grandparents, but returned to her father's home at night. After her first year at Hogwarts Freya had moved all of her things out of her father's home permanently.  
  
By the time September first came around she had read all of her textbooks as well as the two extra books she had bought. Michael insisted she read the book about Dragons that he had chosen during their visit to Diagon Alley to him every night. He always fell asleep before Freya reached the end and she would sit and watch him sleep for a while, trying to memorise his face or lost in pleasant memories.  
  
Michael had arrived on the third of August during the summer holidays before Freya's second year at Hogwarts. He lived with Freya's grandparents all year round while she attended Hogwarts. Freya would have willingly stopped attending the magical school and returned to Muggle schooling in order to be with her son, but her grandparents had insisted that she would be able to do better for Michael as a fully qualified witch.  
  
Taking Michael with her to Hogwarts had never been an option. There was no way she would have been able to attend class and take care of a newborn son at the same time, Michael was not even a month old when the summer holidays had ended and Freya had had to return to school. If she had tried hard enough, and had sought aid from the professors at Hogwarts Freya supposed taking Michael with her might have been possible, but she still would not have done it.  
  
After Madam Pomfrey had identified Freya's throwing up and dizzy spells as morning sickness Professor Dumbledore had gotten involved. Freya had not wanted to tell him about the night during the previous Christmas holidays, and had at first denied all knowledge of the cause of her 'condition.' Then she had looked into his blue eyes, which for once did not twinkle, and could not deny his request for her to take Veritaserum.  
  
Professor Flitwick had been approached to help disguise Freya's pregnancy. He had cast charms on her clothes that would allow them to stretch around her increasing waistline, while the outside appearance did not change. Anyone who looked at her would have seen an ordinary first-year. Freya only vaguely remembered her pregnancy at all. She had been so detached from the world through out it that it almost seemed to have happened to someone else.  
  
The measures to disguise Freya's pregnancy were for good reason. She did not want the attention that would come as a result of being a pregnant first-year. So when Michael arrived there was never a question of undermining all of that work by taking him to Hogwarts with her. Most importantly of all she did not want Michael to receive the unwanted attention of being her son, the son of a child. By leaving him with her grandparents Freya was protecting him, for now at least. There was no telling what would happen after she left Hogwarts.  
  
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September first came and with it the inevitable goodbyes between Freya and Michael. Sometimes it seemed to Freya that her whole relationship with her son was simply a series of goodbyes. She sat on the Hogwarts Express on her way to her fifth year, her O.W.L.s, to the Ravenclaw common room, to the library, and her heart ached to be leaving Michael again.  
  
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The first months passed in much the same way any previous September and October at Hogwarts had, but on Friday, October thirtieth, things changed.  
  
It started off normal enough, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fifth-years were in Care of Magical Creatures, when Professor Kettleburn informed them of the research assignment they would be required to complete, which would contribute twenty five percent to their final grade. They would be working in pairs, in their own time, and have until the end of January to complete the assignment on a specific magical creature.  
  
As the Professor informed them of the details of the assignment, Freya sat praying to be paired with one of the girls from her dorm room, or at least another Ravenclaw; but she had no such luck.  
  
"You will be paired with someone from the opposite house." Professor Kettleburn droned. "I will announce the pairs and the creature you will be studying now. But before I do, let it be known, that there will be no negotiations entered into over either creature or partner."  
  
Freya did not hear anything after that, she was afraid she was having some sort of nervous breakdown. She snapped out of the nervous murmurs of her panicking mind when a piece of parchment was thrust into her hands. She stared blankly at the brown haired fifth-year standing in front of her, his mouth was moving but she was not sure he was actually saying anything. He must have noticed her blank look as he began waving his hand in front of her face.  
  
"Hello, anyone in there?" he asked, his blue eyes frowning with concern.  
  
She brushed the hand away. "Stop it." She snapped. "What do you want anyway?"  
  
"William Attwood, your partner for the assignment, we're studying winged horses. Any of this sound familiar to you or would you like me to speak slower." He smiled at his own joke.  
  
Freya just glared at him. How dare he talk to her like she was stupid, and why did he have to stand so close? "Fine, be in the library at seven tomorrow night." The bell rang and she disappeared up the hill to the castle and lunch.  
  
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That night she sat in the library doing her homework. The Ravenclaw common room was too loud for her taste. In a quiet corner of the library, she could study without being disturbed. Someone pulling out the chair across the table from hers came as a surprise and resulted in the person responsible being glared at. The glare intensified when she saw whom it was.  
  
William Attwood baulked slightly when he saw the look being directed at him but he did not leave.  
  
"I thought we agreed on tomorrow night." She said quietly, clutching her quill tightly to stop her hands from shaking.  
  
"Yeah, but I can't make it then, it's the Halloween feast after all."  
  
"And this only just occurred to you?" Suddenly the secluded corner where she always sat did not seem like a good place to be. The bookshelves that kept her table apart from the rest of the library were no longer sheltering, but imprisoning.  
  
"Well, I would have said something earlier but you disappeared right after class and I didn't have a chance." He was looking at her strangely, but she barely noticed. She was trying to work out how far she could get before he caught her; it was not far. "I was thinking maybe Sunday night instead?"  
  
He grinned when she nodded and, thankfully, stood to go. "I'll see you then." He left, and Freya fled back to the sanctuary of her dorm room.  
  
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There was a Hogsmeade visit the next day, for third-years and up. Freya went; she needed parchment, ink, and some chocolate frogs for Michael. He loved them, but she preferred the more sedate sugar quills.  
  
As she fought her way through the crowded aisles of Honeydukes sweet shop, a tap on her shoulder caused her to jump and drop her parcel of parchment and ink. She bent down to pick up her belongings when she was sent sprawling by the bustling students trying to secure their own supply of sugary substances.  
  
"Hey, watch it." A voice snapped. It was familiar but she could not place it. Hands reached out to help her up, and Freya found herself looking into the concerned face of William Attwood. He handed her the package, and his eyes widened at the curse she muttered on discovering her new vial of ink had broken and leaked over all of her parchment. To her own disgust she found herself blinking back tears. Another bump from the crowd knocked her off balance again, and she would have fallen without William's hands supporting her. The bump also had the maddening side effect of dislodging her tears. William led her outside as she swiped at her cheeks angrily.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked once they were in the relative peace and quiet outside.  
  
"I'm fine." She replied, ignoring the tears still rolling down her cheeks.  
  
"Liar," he said with a smile.  
  
"Really I am, I cry quite regularly actually. It's just my ink, and parchment," she sniffled, "and I still have to get chocolate frogs for.for.and sugar quills." Even distressed she remembered to keep some things to herself, if only just. "But I can't now, I can't go back in there and I don't have enough money for more parchment, ink, and sweets. And.likes frogs so much. But I can't go back in there." She seemed to realise she was saying all of this to a complete stranger. She stepped back and apologised, then took off leaving a very surprised William behind her.  
  
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William was confused. He had expected a little of the antisocial Ravenclaw tendencies when he had first been paired up with Freya Corday, but her reactions were puzzling him. She seemed genuinely afraid of him and he had no idea why.  
  
Despite having attended the same school for over four years William knew very little about Freya. In fact what he did know mainly consisted of the fact that she was a Ravenclaw and top of the year. He thought she was Muggle-born but he was not sure. She could not be wealthy however; her robes were obviously second-hand. He could identify that she had dark hair and brown eyes, but that was only because those eyes, looking at him while swimming with fear, were haunting him.  
  
Some reconnaissance was necessary, he decided. He had to have a better knowledge of Freya if they were going to be able to complete this assignment.  
  
The first people he approached were the two girls who shared Freya's dorm room. He found them in the library, heads bent over a number of books  
  
"Excuse me," he said nervously. As one both girls looked up at him.  
  
"Yes William," Elizabeth McIntyre asked, "What can we do for you?"  
  
"I was wondering, could you tell me what you know about Freya Corday?" he asked as he sat down.  
  
The other girl, Sarah Roberts, giggled, a sound that seemed strange coming from the brown-haired, green-eyed girl. "Why do you want to know?"  
  
"Oh don't be silly Sarah." Elizabeth admonished. "He's paired with her in Care of Magical Creatures, it's only natural he's curious about her, you know."  
  
"Severe psychological problems." Sarah suggested, turning to look at Elizabeth.  
  
"Severe psychological problems?" asked William, confused and concerned.  
  
"She's just teasing," Elizabeth told him. "They're not severe."  
  
William stared at her incredulously.  
  
"Freya just doesn't like crowds," she explained.  
  
"Or people in general." Sarah interjected.  
  
"Do you know why?"  
  
"Nope," answered Sarah.  
  
"Okay," he frowned. "What about her family, what do you know about them?"  
  
Elizabeth answered this time, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling with thought. "Well, she's Muggle-born. Her mother died when she was little and her dad works a lot. I've only ever seen her get picked up from the train by an old man."  
  
"What about brothers or sisters?" was his next question. Freya could have been buying chocolate frogs for her grandparents or father, but he doubted it.  
  
"None that I know of." Elizabeth replied.  
  
"Wait, what about Michael?" asked Sarah.  
  
"Michael? Her brother?" That would make sense, William thought.  
  
"We think so. She left some baby pictures out, must have been the beginning of second-year. We asked who it was and she said 'Michael.' But she never specifically said what relation he was to her. From how she described her mother, I don't think her father would have remarried." Elizabeth responded, voice unsure.  
  
"A cousin then?" William suggested.  
  
"Maybe," was the only response.  
  
William thanked the girls and left. He was at the library doors when Elizabeth caught up with him and stopped him.  
  
"William, take it easy on her. She was our friend once, back in first-year. She changed, closed herself off and we don't know why." Concern was etched on her face; it knitted her light brows together and shone in her eyes.  
  
William nodded and headed back to the Gryffindor tower. He was glad he had bought those sweets now.  
  
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Freya did not go to the feast that evening; she had had enough of crowds already that day. Instead she sat in her dorm reading a book on winged horses. She was not sure what time it was when the owl knocked on her window. At first she thought it was a letter from home but the owl was unfamiliar. It was not her Apollo and it carried a parcel. It took off as soon as she had relieved it of its burden, disappearing back into the dark.  
  
Carefully she untied the string binding the brown paper shut. Folding out the paper revealed half a dozen chocolate frogs, twice that number of sugar quills, and a note, which read:  
  
Freya,  
I feel responsible for what happened this morning. If not for me you  
wouldn't have dropped your ink and would have been able to buy sweets  
for whomever. I hope this makes up for it, please accept these and my  
apology.  
Yours,  
William Attwood  
  
Surprised, Freya could not think of any response to that.  
  
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The first meeting the two had in regards to their assignment went well enough. Freya was careful to choose a more open table near the restricted section where Madam Pince was always prowling. When William arrived, they set about planning how they would tackle the assignment. They decided to describe both winged horses in general and the specific attributes of each of the various breeds. Much to Freya's relief, William accepted her proposal that they each focus on specific breeds, him Abraxans and Aethonans, her Granians and Thestrals. They would combine their research into the six feet of parchment they had to write after the Christmas holidays. She figured the less time she had to spend alone with him the better for her nerves and her state of mind.  
  
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But just when things looked like they were flowing smoothly again Professor Snape had to step in and spoil it. Care of Magical Creatures was not the only class the fifth-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors shared. They had Potions together too.  
  
On a cold miserable morning in the middle of November, Professor Snape assigned them a potion to brew that Freya had hoped to miss. She had spent the day they were scheduled to brew it in the hospital wing with a cold. Unfortunately when she entered the Potions dungeon that morning Snape had a particularly cruel glint in his eye. He announced he had rearranged the class schedule specifically so no one would miss brewing the particular potion.  
  
"The Memoriola potion is capable of showing the drinker the three most important memories of any person, provided he has a sample of their blood. You will be working in partners in order to brew this particular potion. Although it is not extraordinarily complex, I am certain a number of you will be able to foul it up." He paused and glared at the Gryffindors. "After you have combined all of the ingredients and allowed the potion to boil for five minutes, it should turn green. You will then pour a ladle of potion into your glass and add three drops of blood from your partner. If you have brewed it correctly, it will turn brown. After you have drunk it you will experience the three most important memories of your partner's life. If you have brewed it incorrectly, you had better hope the correct antidote can be found before you die." He seemed to be taking particular pleasure in the deathly pale colour Freya's face had turned. "And now for your partners."  
  
Freya prayed to any deity who might have been listening for the floor to open up and swallow her. Nothing happened. She heard the professor pair her up with William and there was not even a crack in the floor. She turned to plan B, intentionally ruin the potion and risk poisoning.  
  
She tried to put two shrivelfigs in instead of one, but William stopped her. Her attempt to leave out the caterpillars was thwarted when William put them in. Every time she tried to leave something out, put extra in, chop too coarsely, or not skin something, William corrected her. Why couldn't she have been paired up with someone who was hopeless at potions for once?  
  
Finally the moment she had been dreading arrived. William removed the light green potion from the heat, and poured out two glasses. He pricked himself and added three drops of his own blood to one, then passed the pin to Freya. She gave up at that point; she added her blood, swapped glasses with him, closed her eyes and prepared herself for his memories.  
  
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She was struck by a dizzying sensation, when she opened her eyes she found herself in an oversized four-post bed in a large room. The reason for the bed's large size became clear when a small hand was lifted to rub her eyes. Her body sat up and spotted a large pile of presents at the foot of the bed. Wrapping paper began to fly and after unwrapping games, books, and clothes, a broomstick was revealed. Her hands grasped hold of it and she found herself running down a large hallway. She stopped at a large oak door, knocked, and then opened the door. She was in another bedroom, but this one's bed was empty. Her body just stood there.  
  
"Happy Birthday William. What are you doing in here?" a middle-aged woman asked. "You know your parents are away in France."  
  
"I just forgot they weren't here, I guess." The words came unbidden form her lips. The voice was different, higher pitched than the one a fifteen- year old William used, but there was still something familiar to it.  
  
"Of course dear, why don't you go get dressed and then come down for breakfast, I made your favourite. Then you can take that broom outside." She felt herself nod as the woman led her away.  
  
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The dizzying sensation struck Freya again. She opened her eyes as an owl swooped down to land on a large, well-polished wooden table. Larger hands than in the previous memory reached out and deftly untied the letter from the bird's leg. She recognised the green ink and the handwriting from her own Hogwarts letter, and sure enough, when her hands broke the seal, that is what it was. A slightly older version of the woman from the previous memory shared an eleven year old William's excitement and suggested he write and tell his parents, who were away in Romania, the news.  
  
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She was prepared for the dizziness the third time, and opened her eyes in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. The reflection in the glass showed a boy, probably of eleven. She looked out into the crowd of waving parents, but William's own hands were still. He had no one to wave to.  
  
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The sensation struck again and Freya opened her eyes back in the Potions dungeon. Immediately she turned to William, a wave of relief swept over her when she saw him standing, eyes closed, still enveloped in her memories.  
  
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William picked up the glass of now brown potion. He was curious to see the memories that Freya seemed so desperate to hide. He was not a fool, she was at the top of the year, and while this potion was a little more complex than most others they had brewed, its difficulty was not so great to justify the number of mistakes he had stopped her from making. She had been intentionally trying to mess up this potion and he was about to find out why.  
  
Really, he thought as he lifted the glass to his lips, what kind of memories could a fifteen-year-old girl have to hide?  
  
Freya had already downed her glass and her brown eyes were closed; he was a little unsure exactly which memories she was reliving, although he had a good idea what the general gist would be. He closed his eyes and swallowed the potion.  
  
It burnt his throat as he swallowed it, and he wondered briefly if maybe Freya had succeeded in messing it up somehow. Then a wave of dizziness hit and all of his thoughts were swept away.  
  
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When he opened his eyes, he was in lying in bed in a dark room. He was not alone; someone was seated on the bed next to him.  
  
"Uncle Tom?" a confused young female voice asked. This had to be taking place when Freya was ten or eleven, William decided.  
  
"Shh," the voice of a young man whispered. His breath stank of alcohol. "I'm going to give you an early Christmas present Frey, but you have to be quiet or your dad will hear. He won't be very happy if he finds out you got a present early, will he?"  
  
William felt his head shake.  
  
"Exactly, so you have to promise to be very, very, quiet Frey, or I can't give you your present." He reached out one hand and stroked William/Freya's shoulder. "Do you promise?"  
  
"Yes," she whispered.  
  
"Good." The voice was nearer now. The breath stank more. His face was only a shadow in the dark. William was scared. There was nothing he could do. He could not control this body. He could only hope his instincts were wrong.  
  
The large, rough, hand continued to stroke the small arm. Then a large, rough, mouth was pressed against hers. A tongue was thrust between Freya's lips. William struggled, and she struggled, and the tongue was withdrawn.  
  
"Don't you love me Frey?" the voice asked.  
  
"Yes, of course I do." Came the reply in a scared, quiet voice. "But I don't want to do.do that."  
  
"You said you loved me, if you loved me you'd do it. You wouldn't lie to me, would you Frey?"  
  
William wanted to punch that mouth. Wanted to scream for Freya's father. Wanted to punch, kick, curse, hex, and scream.  
  
"No," Freya whispered, "I'd never lie to you."  
  
"That's my good girl." The voice paused, then, "I wouldn't hurt you Frey, never ever hurt you. This is a present, it's supposed to be fun." Then that mouth was on Freya's again. The hand still stroked her arm. The other snaked down to hitch up her nightgown.  
  
Time seemed to stretch on and on for William stuck in Freya's head. He cried for her; for her loss of innocence, her pain, her betrayal. She cried too. She cried as the tongue raped her mouth. The hands and a hot, pulsing member raped her body. Her uncle raped her soul. She screamed into that mouth as the member entered her. William screamed too.  
  
She cried even after the uncle had given her back her nightgown and underwear. Kissed her one last time. Wiped away her tears. Told her that he loved her and left. William left her crying when the dizzying sensation overtook him again.  
  
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There was pain when he opened his eyes again and he saw that Freya's stomach was large, swollen. The voice that screamed with the pain of the contraction seemed no older than the one that had whispered in the night.  
  
"Just one more push, Freya. One more push should do it." A calm, female, voice instructed from in front. Another wave of pain and Freya grunted as she pushed. In her head, William groaned.  
  
"There we go." The voice spoke again. Movement was felt where, for William, a hot, hard, violator had been only moments before. A baby's cry broke through the delivery room. "Congratulations Freya, you have a beautiful baby boy."  
  
Tears streaked down Freya's face again. This time William suspected they were from joy rather than pain. A blanket wrapped bundle was placed in her arms. William looked through her eyes at the babe. His first response was to wonder how anyone could call the red and purple baby, still coated with remains of the after birth, beautiful.  
  
"Michael," Freya whispered, "my little angel."  
  
Michael's eyes remained closed and his dark hair was plastered to his head. William noted however that he did indeed have ten fingers and each had its own tiny fingernail.  
  
```*```*```*```*```*```  
  
William did not know what to expect after the dizziness passed for a third time. He opened his eyes as Freya opened a car door. She stepped out onto a gravel driveway. An elderly man stood on the other side of the car. He shooed her away when she moved to take her own trunk out of the car's boot.  
  
"Go on," he grumbled. "I'm not so old I can't carry a trunk, especially one charmed feather light. Go see that boy of yours."  
  
William felt Freya's mouth widen in to a smile. She kissed the old man on the cheek "Thanks Grandad." She turned and ran to the house. She opened the front door, walked down the hall. Quietly she peered around the edge of a door. William felt her smile widen. Inside a small, dark haired boy sat on the knee of an elderly woman. She was reading a story to him but the boy was squirming, waiting for something.  
  
As they watched he interrupted the story asking, "Mummy home soon?"  
  
"Mummy's home now." Freya said with a smile, stepping into the room.  
  
With a shout Michael threw himself off his great-grandmother's knee. He rushed to his mother, throwing his arms around her. Whispers of "Mummy" were heard as Freya held her son close.  
  
```*```*```*```*```*```  
  
Dizziness again and William opened his own eyes, back in the Potions dungeon. He turned to look into a face, a picture of terror. Before he could open his mouth to speak; Freya fled from the room. He made to follow, but Snape intercepted him.  
  
"It would seem Mr. Attwood, that you have some rather traumatic memories." The Professor drawled. "Ten points from Gryffindor for terrorising a fellow student. Sit down."  
  
William did not bother to argue. He waited, counting the seconds down, until the bell rang.  
  
```*```*```*```*```*```  
  
He searched the castle for her, with no luck. He asked the pair of girls who shared her dorm if they had seen her, but they had not. He was about to give up, when he heard a Slytherin sixth-year commenting about a foolish girl wandering by the lake with no cloak on. He did not bother to go to the Gryffindor tower to retrieve his own cloak. He was too afraid that if he did she would disappear again.  
  
He found her sitting on a log, shivering, face pale, eyes red. "Freya?" he asked gently as he approached.  
  
She stood and faced him. Resembling a startled rabbit in appearance, one that was trying to decide if it was a good idea to run or if the fox would simply chase her down. "Have you told everyone yet?" she asked. Voice cold, dead. "Or have you come to bargain for your silence. I should warn you I don't have any money, the second hand robes should have tipped you off to that. So what'll it be? All your homework done? What? What?" her voice rose with every question.  
  
William stared at her, dumbfounded. "I.I.nothing, I won't tell anyone Freya. I promise I won't. I'd never. What makes you think I'd do that?" he rambled when he recovered his voice; he knew he was rambling. But he was so surprised, shocked. Why would she think something like that of him?  
  
"I don't have much faith in the goodwill of man." She said in the same lifeless voice. "I'm sure you understand."  
  
"I'm not like that, please believe me Frey." The contracted name just slipped out, unconsciously. He would have taken it back had he been able to.  
  
"Don't call me that. Don't you ever call me that. He used to call me that. The whole time he was.he was.he called me that. Don't you dare call me that!" Her rage breathed life into her voice. Her hands pounded into his shoulders, not hard enough to hurt the Quidditch strengthened muscle. He wrapped his arms around her as her fists pounded and she cried.  
  
The End 


End file.
